CHAPTER 9 - Blood on the Snow
784 Words
The doors of the infirmary slammed shut behind Kael as he stormed out, the echoes of Thorian’s ragged breaths still clawing at his mind.
The Gamma had barely survived.
If Lyra had not arrived when she did…
Thorian would be dead.
Kael’s fists clenched.
The Shadow was not testing them anymore.
It was declaring war.
Garron fell into step beside him, matching the king’s long, furious strides down the frost-lit hallway.
“Your Majesty,” Garron said quietly, “we need to examine the site. Immediately.”
Ronin waited at the corridor intersection, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture controlled—but Kael saw the tension in his eyes.
“Thorian said the Lieutenant spoke,” Ronin reported as they walked. “It mentioned your bloodline… and betrayal.”
Kael halted.
The torches flickered violently behind him as Rokhan surged beneath his skin, restless and outraged.
“Who else knows those words?” Kael asked sharply.
“Only us, Thorian, Celene, and Miric,” Ronin replied.
Garron exhaled, crossing his arms.
“We should keep this contained. Until we have proof.”
Kael resumed walking.
Proof.
The word tasted like stone in his mouth.
Kael did not want to believe it.
Not with Aria’s journal still hidden beneath his cloak.
Not with her final fear gnawing at him from beyond the grave.
A traitor.
Inside his palace.
He would burn the world apart before letting Skyblood fall because of one hidden serpent.
THE WATCHTOWER RUINS
The wind was savage as they approached the northern ridge.
The watchtower—once a proud stone sentinel—now lay broken, half-collapsed, charred black from dark magic.
Kael stepped through the wreckage slowly.
The scent of burnt pine.
The metallic tang of blood.
The unnatural cold that clung to everything.
Garron crouched near a scorched beam, touching it carefully.
“This was not fire,” he murmured.
“It is shadow-burn. It eats from the inside out.”
Ronin knelt beside a cracked stone wall.
“The force was not explosive,” he observed. “It was invasive. As if something entered through the stone rather than climbed it.”
Kael’s gaze sharpened.
“Entered?”
Ronin looked up. “The Lieutenant did not break in. It materialized.”
“The creature did not linger. It struck, tested the defenses, and left.”
“For what purpose?” Kael demanded.
Ronin met his gaze.
“To measure our strength.
To measure your response.
This was not meant to kill the watchtower.
It was meant to send a message.”
Kael’s jaw clenched until his teeth ached.
“And the message?”
Garron’s voice hardened.
“Skyblood is vulnerable.”
The wind whipped Kael’s cloak, snow swirling around him.
He stared into the ruined stone archway where his warriors had taken their last breaths.
“My kingdom,” Kael growled, “is not a feast for shadows.”
THE SCENT OF LIES
Ronin moved toward a set of scattered footprints leading away from the tower—wolf prints mixed with smaller, lighter steps.
Human.
Female.
He crouched, brushing snow aside.
“Your Majesty,” he said slowly, “these tracks… they do not belong to any of our scouts.”
Garron sniffed the air, his brow furrowing.
“That scent… it is familiar.”
Kael froze.
A coldness—not from the snow—slid down his spine.
“Whose scent?” he asked quietly.
Garron hesitated.
Ronin rose to his feet, his eyes sharp.
“I know every scent in this court. This one… it belongs to someone who had no reason to be on the northern ridge.”
Kael’s heart beat once, slow and heavy.
“Say the name.”
Ronin exchanged a heavy look with Garron.
And Garron exhaled.
“…Anara Thorne.”
Silence slammed into the air.
Miric’s wife.
Elegant. Intelligent. Poised.
A noblewoman with no business near a warriors outpost.
Kael did not speak for a long time.
When he finally did, his voice was colder than the blizzard around them.
“Track every movement she made in the last seventy-two hours,” he ordered Ronin. “Discreetly.”
Garron stepped closer.
“If she is involved—”
Kael cut him off.
“We do not accuse without proof.”
Ronin nodded. “Understood.”
Garron bowed his head.
“As you command, my king.”
Behind them, the snow fell heavier, blanketing the ruins as though trying to hide the truth beneath white silence.
But Kael felt Aria’s journal burning against his chest.
There is a traitor in the palace.
His eyes darkened with stormlight.
If Anara was tied to these footprints…
He would find out.
One way or another.
- Writer
